Past Lives: Hikari's Vision
by s1ncer1ty
Summary: Alternate universe, slightly Takari, and character death. A Hikari of another era is plagued by visions of destiny.


*** Disclaimer: No tengo Digimon. Or something. You know the drill.

Anyways, I guess this is something of an alternate-universe fic. Short, depressing, and odd. I might continue along a "past life" series of tales, if I get the proper inspiration, reflecting small moments cut from time of former Digidestined lives. Maybe. We'll see what happens.

This was vaguely inspired by "Nip the Buds, Shoot the Kids," by Oe Kenzaburo. Recommended, but certainly not for the faint of heart. It's a very disturbing book.

Oh, and don't get annoyed with character death. I warned you. o.o ***

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Past Lives: Hikari's Vision

Yagami Hikari huddles beneath an itchy woolen blanket and tries to keep from shivering as she draws the only warmth the night's sky will allow from a steaming mug of weak green tea. Nearby, Takaishi Takeru fans the campfire with his coat in hopes of willing the flame to more than just the dull crackle it's been for the past several hours. The damp wood he's forced to feed it keeps it from leaping to such a height as to keep the two youths warm.

After several further, futile attempts, he joins the skinny young woman at her side, and slips underneath the blanket to radiate body heat. As he joins her, she gasps in shock, and the cup of tea falls to the ground and leaches its water into the dirt.

"Are you okay?" he asks, concerned. Reaching out a hand, he rights the cup before it spills its entire contents into the earth. Half an inch of tea mixes with dirt at the bottom of the clay mug.

Hikari shrugs lightly, her surprise dissolving as she returns to her thoughts. It's not his presence that scared her, he realizes. She parts her bluish lips to murmur, "It's cold."

Takeru pokes at the dying fire with a moldy stick. "That can't be helped." His clothes are dull army green, American issue, the country's half-hearted attempt to apologize after their decimation of two Japanese cities.

"My brother is dead," she states simply, her gaze falling upon the dull flames, fixating there.

"It's not very likely that he survived the bombing, Hikari, no," replies Takeru, though not unkindly. He himself has suffered for weeks knowing of the loss of his own brother in the war. But then, Takeru is a revolutionary in thinking that the life of a kamikaze pilot is anything but honorable.

"You're wrong, Takeru," the girl murmurs, her body shivering. Takeru can feel her body starting to warm, as it always does when her eyes go distant. Soon, she'll be convulsing with fever chills. "He lived through the initial bombing."

"You don't know that, Hikari," says Takeru. But he believes her, even though he doesn't want to. Her moments of premonition frighten him a little.

The girl shakes her head, as her cheeks flush bright with color. Her voice is disconnected, struggling through the cold air like a bird flying against the wind. "The heat from the bomb melted his fingers, and debris from the explosion blinded him in his right eye. But he survived, and managed to live for three days before he passed out from the exposure and lack of water, and he died. A young woman in a light green kimono found his body. I heard her scream."

"Who was the woman that found him?" Takeru asks, pulling her quaking body closer to his, hoping to quiet her shaking.

"The girl who worked in the flower shop."

"I'm amazed that anyone survived at all," Takeru whispers, shaking his head.

Hikari nods quietly, and the only reason her voice shakes is because the fever chills have overtaken her. "The fire that fell from the skies above left some alive," she says. "But not many. Do you remember Tachikawa Mimi?"

"She used to watch over me before my brother went away," I murmured, remembering the girl's light brown hair and her laughing eyes. She became my temporary guardian after my brother lied about his age to become a fighter pilot in the Japanese military.

"She's in America now," Hikari murmurs. "I see her pregnant with a soldier's child. He hurts her, because he believes it's her fault that his father died in Hawaii."

Takeru shakes his head, and he stares at her. "I don't want to hear this," he states, unable to force the tremble out of his voice.

But she continues. "Kido Jou died in a hole covered in mud, bleeding from a bullet in his head. The next day, his unit surrendered to the Allies. But at least his ancestors are at peace knowing he died honorably."

Takeru's eyes begin to blaze with anger, with fear. She sees the fate of their immediate circle of friends, as clearly as he can see her shaking uncontrollably, her cheeks bright with fever. "Hikari, stop!" he orders. He knows, however, that she won't. Not until the vision is played out completely.

"Izumi Koushiro," she babbles, her eyes showing their whites. "The last thing he sees is the brightest of lights falling from the heavens. He turns to run down the city street, but the blinding heat tears the skin from his body. It's too late."

"Hikari!" He shakes her shoulders and she lets out a strangled cry. A single, lucid tear slips down her cheek.

"Oh, Takeru," she whispers, her pupils dilating as she returns from her mystic world of visions. She calms herself, and wraps her fingers around the clay mug once more, sipping the remains of the tea, even if it is mixed with soil. "Why didn't they listen to me?"

"I don't know," he murmurs, his shoulders shivering. He wants to cry, but knows he can't. Tears are not a part of his life anymore. "Perhaps they knew that they couldn't escape destiny."

"But you listened to me," she says, her dark brown eyes tilting up at his. He sees her thin lips trembling. "You ran with me from the city."

Takeru shrugs, poking at the fire once again with a stick. He doesn't answer her. He couldn't speak right now even if he wanted to.

Hikari sighs, her breath a white plume in the cold, surrounding air. "They'd be alive today if only they'd left the city when I told them to."

Takeru wants to run, run far away, but he knows he can't. He knows it's his destiny to die alongside the sickly young woman with the visions. He remembers a time, months ago, when she ran to him, her dark hair flying behind her in the breeze like the feathery wings of a bird, and she sobbed to him that they had to leave Nagasaki, that fire from the sky would consume their lives if they did not flee the city immediately.

She was so beautiful then, as she is beautiful now, with her fever-flushed cheeks and her eyes filled with premonitions. He rests his head against her shoulder, and she holds him. But sleep is a long time coming for them both. 


End file.
